


Family Romance

by syrupwit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a house on the edge of a lake in Naboo lived an old woman and a little girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenofspade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/gifts).



In a house on the edge of a lake in Naboo lived an old woman and a little girl. Several droids lived there with them as well. The old woman had long hair that was silvery-white, and it grew whiter by the day. For her part the little girl had a lot of thick brown hair. It wasn't very long yet, as at times she grew restless and cut it with scissors. The first time she'd done this, the woman had become very angry. On seeing how her anger frightened the girl, however, she had sat down with her and been quiet until they were both calm. Later she had washed and combed the girl's hair, and cut it herself with the same pair of scissors until it was neat and easy to braid. Now each night they dressed their hair together, and the girl slept well.

The girl had not always slept well. Nightmares still plagued her occasionally, but now she had stories to tell herself and prayers to recite, halls and gardens to wander around in. Stars to look up at. At one time the house had been large and well-kept, though much of it now sat in ruins. What remained, however, was more than enough space for the two of them. 

The land around the house had once been rich and fertile. Some still sat barren, but other parts were lush with new growth, especially in spring. Beyond some cliffs on one side of the house lay a small cove where the girl was not allowed to go alone. On the other side of the house there were woods where she could go, and beyond them swamps where she had sometimes ventured -- but the cove was forbidden to her.

Sometimes the girl planned ways to sneak out to the cove, in the night when she paced through the house and grounds alone. But the old woman always seemed to anticipate her plans, and distracted her in the morning with chores or lessons or a trip to the city. The girl didn’t like being around too many people, but she liked the old buildings and the shops in the city. The old woman knew the names of every street, every waterway, every statue with its eyes scratched out out or painting with its colors half scrubbed away, and she would tell the girl about them as they walked by. The woman dressed in black when she went to the city, with a veil over her face. The girl dressed in brown, which suited her. People murmured and sometimes lowered their eyes respectfully as they passed. The girl always forgot to ask why.

The house received visitors infrequently. Most were old. Few stayed longer than a couple of hours. The old woman and the droids served them small meals on the terrace, and most of the time the girl ate with them. When she had first come to live there, the girl had snuck out to the kitchen and stolen the leftovers from such meals. It had gotten to the point where there was food jammed all under her bed. One of the droids found it while he was cleaning. The girl shouted and tried to beat him up when she saw him taking her food to the waste compactor. The woman made her apologize, and the girl was allowed to keep a case of ration bars in her room after that.

Sometimes there were visitors who met with the old woman alone. They arrived in the night and spoke with her behind locked doors. Once, the girl went into the garden and peeked through the woman’s window. She saw the woman talking to an old man in a robe. Their conversation appeared to be important, though she could hear none of it. 

The old man’s white hair was sparse and thin. The skin of his hands and arms was withered like dead leaves. When he turned toward the window slightly, the girl saw the outline of his body flicker and blur like a hologram. Then she saw his eyes.

She crouched down and hid in the bushes, shaking. When she looked in the window again, the man had disappeared.

In the morning she asked the old woman if anyone else had been in the house that night.

“Only you and I,” said the old woman. She was watching the steam rise from her daily cup of tea. It was nice out, and they were eating on the terrace. Nunas congregated at the lake-shore, making nuna sounds. Clouds were clearing slowly from the pale blue sky.

The girl frowned into her breakfast, but kept quiet. Secrecy would be her ally in this matter. From the previous night’s incident, as well as other evidence, she had concluded that the old woman was a witch.

Certainly she was old enough. The delicacy of her papery hands, and the stoop-shouldered but adamant dignity of her bearing, spoke to a life devoted to the pursuit of arcane knowledge. The vast library she kept, crammed with real books as well as datapads and cubes, pointed toward the same. The woman spoke softly most of the time, but a strange rasp became apparent when she had cause to raise her voice. She was very hard to lie to. And she always wore dark clothes. It all made sense! The only disappointment was that the woman had not yet offered to make the girl a witch herself.

From that day forward, the girl resolved to uncover the old woman’s secret. Confronted with _part_ of the truth, the girl imagined, the woman would have no choice but to show her the rest. The girl developed a shorthand and started keeping notes. Unfortunately not very much happened for a while, so the girl’s datapads were full of encoded messages along the lines of “baked blumfruit muffins this afternoon” or “searched upstairs closet, found box of cloak pins.” It seemed smart to track the woman’s movements at night, but the girl was still young enough that she fell asleep early more often than not, and the mouse droid who did most of the cleaning liked to patrol the floors on odd nights. 

At last -- after the girl was starting to get the idea that she had imagined the old man -- a night came when the old woman did something interesting. The girl was shaken from half-sleep by a noise she barely heard. In fact, she would later realize she hadn’t heard it at all. She rose, opened her door as quietly she could, and tiptoed down the hall just in time to spot the woman slipping into the garden. The girl waited, then followed. 

The old woman headed down the beach and past the cliffs. She was going to the cove. She went slowly, leaning on a cane that made no marks in the sand. The girl followed behind her at a distance. She watched the woman walk up to the wall of rock that made up the back of the cove, press her hand to something, and disappear into the rock.

The next day the girl tried to go back by herself. She told the old woman she was going for a run -- exercise was an important component of her education -- and left in a different direction before heading for the cove. Though she touched every part of the cliff she could reach, nothing happened.

She came back again at night several days later, but achieved the same result. It did not change when she came back the next week.

It was all terribly frustrating, and the girl was just about done with it. The house, the lake, the woods -- they seemed to shrink smaller and smaller, confining her, while the stars wheeled in fixed positions far away. The old woman’s silences grew longer, the girl’s curiosity lesser. Then, one night, a visitor came while the woman was out.

The girl had watched the old woman slip out into the garden again. She was too mad to sleep, and stood in the entryway drinking a glass of juice. 

“Hello?” said someone outside the door.

The girl snuck to the window and peered outside. A man was waiting by the door. He wore a hood that hid his face. When she looked at him, she felt scared, but then a haze fell over her fear and she didn’t care.

“You will let me inside,” he said. So she did.

He spent some time walking around the house. “Where is she?” he asked. “I’d like you to show me where she is.”

The girl took him to the cove.

“I can’t get inside,” she told him, passing her hand over the surface of the rock. 

“I can,” he said. He pressed his hand to the cliff-side the same way the woman had. An opening appeared. He stepped inside and beckoned her to follow.

They walked through passages like a maze. The man held a ball of light in his hand. The girl kept thinking there was something she’d forgotten, but her eyes caught on the ball of light and she wasn’t sure what it could be.

At last they reached a wide, lit chamber. The old woman was sitting in the middle of it, leaning on her cane, back to them. Around her were boxes and dressers, trunks and scrolls. It was a treasure cave.

“Hello, mother,” said the man. “I believe you have something that belongs to me. And I have something that belongs to you.”

The old woman turned around slowly. There was something in her hands. “Rey,” she said resignedly.

“Why don’t we trade?” said the man. He nodded to the girl, and she moved forward without thinking.

“I can’t believe what’s happened to you,” said the old woman. In her hands were the hilt of one weapon, and the hilt of another: a blaster.

“Father caused you so much pain, but you still love him. Even now.” The man reached for something at his belt. “I know you feel there's good in me still.”

“That may be so,” said the old woman. “But I will not hesitate to strike you down.” She raised the blaster and fired.

The man lifted his hand with sudden violence. The bolt halted, changed direction, and blasted a harmless hole in the rock. He moved his hand again, and the old woman was suspended in the air, body tensed but frozen in place, eyes darting around wildly. The blaster and the hilt clattered at her feet.

“No!” shouted the girl. She lunged forward and grabbed for the hilt. Something around her broke free.

She thumbed the handle and a blue blade flared out.

“Don’t touch her,” said the girl.

The man laughed. From the way it made his face change, it was clear that he had once been handsome. “Or what? You’ll kill me with that thing?”

“Yes,” said the girl, thinking she meant it. She jutted her chin at him and glared.

The man looked at the girl, then at his mother. “This is her? She’s exactly like him,” he said, amusement pouring off his voice like smoke.

“I’m not like anyone,” argued the girl. “I’m like me. Stop talking and get out of here, or I’ll kill you.”

“You’re not going to kill me,” he said smoothly. “Hasn’t she told you who your grandfather is?”

She ran at him.

The dream around them burst and disappeared.

\--

Rey woke up crying. 

“Padmé?” she called. “Padmé?”

\--

It was clear they could not stay in the house any longer. A friend of Padmé’s took in the droids, and Padmé and Rey packed and headed for the spaceport.

Rey didn’t like it. There were too many people, too much noise. Some old guy in a tattered jacket kept staring at them and trying to wave them over, like he knew them. The Wookiee behind him seemed embarrassed.

He looked at them one too many times, and Rey had enough. She marched over to him and got in his face. 

“What is your problem?” she said.

“Whoa, whoa!” said the guy, raising his hands. “We’re -- your daughter sent us. The General. I’m Han Solo, and my copilot here is Chewbacca. Ma'am, we’re here to rescue you. Though, ah...I should have guessed you would’ve already been handling yourselves pretty adequately in that department.”

“Leia?” said Padmé. She seemed to be holding her breath.

“Yeah, Leia,” said Solo, face softening. “We can take you to her. Hey, can I give you a hand with those bags?”

“No,” said Rey.

“Are you sure, because they look kind of -- “

“ _No_ ,” snapped Rey, yanking the bags away from him.

“We are grateful for your help, Mr. Solo,” said Padmé. She took one of his hands in hers and looked him in the eye, then stepped forward and did the same to the Wookiee. “I look forward to traveling with you.”

“Sure, sure,” said the old guy, but his face was kind of red.

They loaded up into the old guy’s ship -- it was junk, but now it was _their_ junk -- and headed for the stars.


End file.
